


Jet Black Crow

by cylobaby27



Series: Jet Black Crow [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfam Week, Batfam Week 2018, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Homophobic Language, Jason is a hooker!AU, Underage Prostitution, there are also homophobic muggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-17 19:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15468657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cylobaby27/pseuds/cylobaby27
Summary: Jason never tried to lift the tires off the Batmobile. Instead, he ended up working on the streets of Gotham, struggling to stay alive. Somehow, Nightwing still crosses his path.Batfam Week 2018 - Prompt: AU





	Jet Black Crow

**Author's Note:**

> CW for discussed (but offscreen) underage prostitution. Additional CW for homophobic language; mostly used by Jason against himself, but still potentially triggering.
> 
> Title comes from Fall Out Boy’s “Twin Skeleton’s (Hotel in NYC)”

Jason wished he could say the fact that he was in a fight with two burly, drunk assholes in a back alley was unusual for him. It wasn’t. He almost wished he could say it bothered him. It didn’t.

Some nights, the chance to release the stress by splitting his knuckles was the best thing that happened after the sun went down. He never started the fight—there was too much of a risk that a lucky fist would damage his face, and he didn't like the taste of violence. But if someone else came at him? He would save himself.

These two men had spotted Jason slipping out of a fancy car belonging to a rich businessman from out of town, and had correctly guessed that there would be fresh cash in his pockets. This being Crime Alley, they’d thought they could relieve him of his hard-earned money.

This being Crime Alley, Jason knew how to defend himself.

He dodged a weak punch and ducked, using the man’s momentum to send him into a pair of trashcans nearby. His friend, who was shorter but burlier with a swirl of tattoos on his forehead, let out a shout of rage and tried to tackle Jason to the ground. Jason managed to move out of the way, and then kicked the back of the man’s knees to make him lose his balance.

“Fuck off,” he growled at them.

Unfortunately, the other man—who now smelled of garbage—was already back on his feet. A knife glinted in his hand. “Give us your money and this ends now.”

“Hey, I sucked a dick for that money,” Jason snapped. “I’m not handing it over to the first dumbass who asks for it.” Garbage Boy muttered a slur, and Jason said, “Come on, now. It’s dishonest work, but it could be worse. I _could_ be jumping fucking teenagers in an alley and smelling like the docks.”

The man didn’t bother engaging in the witty repartee Jason was setting up. Instead, he just lunged with the knife. Jason swore and tripped backwards, narrowly avoiding a blade to the gut. The man wasn’t messing around. He knew how to use the weapon, and he was going for blood. Jason was painfully aware of the narrowness of the alley, and how close the wall was to his back. In close quarters like these, a knife changed things dramatically.

When Garbage Boy stabbed at him again, Jason ducked into the movement, pressing his back to the man’s chest and grabbing at his wrist with both hands. They scrabbled like dogs over a bone, gracelessly shoving and kicking until Jason managed to pry the knife from the man’s hands.

Jason ducked away, but the man grabbed his hair as he went, jerking him backward. Jason turned and slashed at the man’s torso, making him jump away.

The only warning was the sound of a foot connecting with a bottle, sending it rolling across the alley. Jason whirled around, but the tattooed man was already too close. Jason showed him the knife in his hand. “Back off,” he warned again.

“Fuck you,” the man retorted, closing in.

Behind him, Jason could feel Garbage Man moving closer as well. They had him surrounded, and the knife in his hands didn’t seem to scare them. Jason had learned how to use a lot of improvised weapons in his time—tire irons, baseball bats, garbage can lids—but he knew he was more likely to cut his own flesh with the knife than disable his opponents. Besides, he’d seen too often how quickly a knife could change ownership—as proved by his scuffle only seconds ago.

As the tattooed man lunged toward him, Jason threw the knife as hard as he could into the shadows of the alley beyond them. It clanged against something, and then was gone.

“You little shit,” Garbage Man shouted, and then they were on him.

It was dark in the alley. The only thing that mattered were the fists and kicks raining down on him. Jason had to stay on his feet. That was the most important thing, the mantra that stayed in his head as a punch connected with his face. He had to stay on his feet.

On the ground, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

Heavy arms clamped around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides from behind. Ears ringing from the blow to his face—he would have a black eye tomorrow—Jason still managed to twist away from the grip, ducking down so he could send the assailant spilling over his shoulder onto the pavement. He hit with a sickening thud, his own momentum and Jason’s help sending him face-first into the hard ground.

That didn’t stop the tattooed man from his own attack, though. They weren’t drunk enough to lose their speed—just too drunk to back away from a fight. Jason was still trying to find his own balance after sending Garbage Man to the ground when the tattooed man was in his face, punching him once in the jaw and then again in the stomach.

Jason spat blood and stumbled backward. He held up his fists and waited for the next blow. His vision in his left eye was hazy from more blood, and his head was spinning even worse now. If he had a second to take a deep breath, he might throw up.

He didn’t have a second.

His attacked lunged forward again—and then a dark blur landed on his shoulders from overhead. There was a blur of limbs too fast for Jason’s tired eyes to track, and then the tattooed man was laid out on the ground beside his friend.

Standing in the alley, barely lit by the glow from the surrounding apartments and the city’s constant light pollution, was Nightwing.

Jason stayed up-to-date on the city’s vigilantes, the same way he had learned the faces of the beat cops who patrolled his neighborhood. Nightwing was less common a sighting than Red Robin or the new blonde female Robin, but the blue vee on his chest was still recognizable.

Though Jason had never been up close to a vigilante before, he’d heard stories from other kids on the streets. Everyone always talked about Batman’s hulking shadow, but Nightwing wasn’t the skinny slip of a thing you’d think from hearing the stories. He wasn’t as tall as Jason, but he was filled out with the kind of muscle you only saw on professional athletes or the kinds of people who could afford personal trainers.

Jason quickly scrubbed the blood from his brow with the back of his hand, and then put his fists up again. He probably wouldn’t last as well against someone with training, but he still wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Easy,” Nightwing said, holding up his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jason said. He looked at the two assholes on the dirty pavement, one groaning, one unconscious. Was this the first time they’d been stopped from mugging or killing their prey? If not, was anything they did tonight going to stop them from attacking someone else tomorrow night? Jason looked at them again. Well, next week. Whatever Nightwing had done to the tattooed man had left him out cold, and he didn’t look like he’d be bouncing to his feet.

Jason shook his head, trying to focus. The blows to his head had the alley spinning. “There’s, uh, a knife. I threw it that way,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “We should take it. So they don’t use it on someone else.”

Nightwing nodded. “The police are on their way, but I’ll grab that. It’s theirs?”

“Duh,” Jason said. He wiped at his brow again. The wound hadn’t stopped bleeding, and the blood stung when it hit his eye.

When his vision cleared, he found Nightwing a few steps closer. Jason flinched backwards, and the vigilante stopped. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can help you get to a hospital.”

“No hospitals.”

“They won’t ask any questions,” Nightwing said cautiously. “I know someone discrete.”

“I don’t have insurance,” Jason said. He took another step away, and ended up with his back against the wall. He immediately pushed away from it, feeling cornered, but the sudden movement made his head spin. He nearly stumbled, but righted himself.

“I might know a doctor who could look at you for free,” Nightwing said.

Jason waved his hand. “I said I’m fine.” His head snapped toward the mouth of the alley. Sirens were approaching. “Thanks for the help, or whatever. I need to go.”

“You’re not okay going anywhere,” Nightwing protested.

“Yeah, well, I have a job to do tonight,” he said.

Nightwing winced. “You’re not in a position to…work.”

The tone was enough to tell Jason that the vigilante had read Jason’s costume as easily as Jason had read his. The ripped jeans and mesh top weren’t exactly subtle, especially in this weather. It was late autumn, and the chill in the air against his bare skin danced on the edge of pain.

“Some people like this look,” Jason said, not untruthfully. Just not the clients he liked to have. Usually, someone sees a bruise and thinks that means that you’re up for any bruises _they_ might want to give you. He hesitated. “You’re not going to hand me over to the cops, are you?”

“We don’t interfere with non-violent criminals,” Nightwing said, with the air of recitation.

“Cool,” Jason said. The sirens were getting closer. “Hey, you don’t wanna…” He tried to waggle his eyebrows, but gave up when the cut over his eye stung in response. “You must have a pretty loaded benefactor with all the swag you’ve got. I can give you the you-saved-my-life discount.”

“No! No, that’s not happening,” Nightwing exclaimed, holding up his hands like he was afraid Jason was going to bodily throw himself at him.

Jason rolled his eyes. “If you’re not into dudes, you’re not into dudes. Don’t freak out. I won’t attack you.”

“I’m not into _prostitutes_ ,” Nightwing corrected. When Jason folded his arms, slightly offended by the disgust in Nightwing’s tone, the vigilante rushed to clarify, “Because of consent. And stuff. And you look like you might be underage, which makes it worse. So no. No.”

“I’m not underage,” Jason said. Or at least, he wouldn’t be in ten months. He fudged the date depending on what his clients seemed like they wanted. The ladies tended to want to make sure he was legal. The men, less so.

Nightwing’s tension didn’t loosen. “I don’t believe you,” he said, and Jason bristled. “Come with me. Not for…you know. I can help you. You’re too young for this.”

Jason snorted. “Is anyone really old enough to deal with all the shit in this world?” The sirens came to a stop at the front of the alley. It was time to go. He turned, limping away. “Find me if you change your mind about my offer. I’m usually on the corner of 5th and Mercer.”

“Wait,” Nightwing called, but Jason didn’t stop.

 

#

 

It was getting late, close to three, and it was nearly time for Jason to give up and call it a night. Tonight, it didn’t seem like anyone was willing to risk picking up a prostitute who was still actively bleeding from a head wound. Two of the girls who worked a block away from him had seen him and given him a packet of Advil and some gauze, but they hadn’t stuck around long. They both worked for a john that hated Jason’s lack of official affiliation. If Jason wasn’t willing to let the man boss him around and take a cut of his pay, he made sure his girls didn’t help Jason at all.

In the beginning, he had sent men to try to take the corner from Jason, but Jason had held on with bloody knuckles and split lips until they’d finally given up.

There were enough people looking for midnight companionship in Gotham that Jason’s presence barely made a difference in their bottom line.

Jason’s head was still spinning, but he was under on his rent payment for the month. He needed at least two hundred more dollars by tomorrow night, or his landlord might finally toss him out. He needed a big score, some rich man or woman who wanted a Pretty Woman situation. He needed…

The high roller in the Lamborghini who was pulling to the curb in front of him.

“Hello, beautiful,” Jason muttered under his breath. That was a gorgeous car. His fingers were practically itching to jack it, take it for a joyride, and sell its very expensive, beautiful innards for enough cash to last him three years. His days of tire-stealing were behind him, though, so he just strolled to the window as smoothly as he could with his bruised ribs. The window—tinted darker than was legal—rolled down to meet him.

He leaned against the roof and gave the driver a salacious grin. “Looking for company, handsome?” he purred.

The driver was younger than he’d expected. This car screamed midlife crisis, but the driver couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. He was also genuinely handsome, with dark hair and bright blue eyes. Jason winced inside, though he kept his grin in place. Handsome, rich, young—this was undoubtedly a client drawn in by the blood and bruises, looking for something he couldn’t pick up from one of the usual gold-diggers throwing themselves at him.

“Uh…yes,” the man said.

“Fabulous. One hundred per hour, but if you’re in a hurry, it’s fifty for a quickie, no penetration. Condoms for both of us, no exceptions. I only go to hotels—no apartments. Sound good to you?”

“Um, sure.”

Jason winked at him, though the motion felt awkward with the healing wound over his brow. “Don’t tell me I’m your first?” he teased lightly. “Don’t be shy. I’m here for you, babe.” Jason tested the door handle, and then pouted. “Not going to let me in?”

“Oh, sorry.” The lock clicked, and Jason slid into the front seat. The car smelled as good as it looked, like fine leather and polish. Either this baby was brand new, or it was kept in perfect condition. The man immediately pulled away from the curb, and Jason took a deep breath to keep from flinching when the doors re-locked automatically. “There’s water, if you want,” the man said, nodding to a bottle in the cup holder without looking away from the road. There wasn’t any traffic this late, but he drove with both hands on the wheel.

Jason looked at the bottle and then back to the man. “Not thirsty,” he lied. As though he’d drink something in a stranger’s car.

“The bottle’s sealed,” the man offered.

Jason frowned. Had his hesitance been obvious? Maybe the injuries were impacting his acting skills. Still, he wasn’t going to touch it. Someone this rich might have the resources to inject something into the bottle without Jason noticing.

“What’s your name?” the man continued.

“Jay,” Jason said, thrown off. Either he’d judged this guy as a sadist too quickly, or this was part of some mind game to put him at ease before they got to business. The latter seemed more likely. “What do you want me to call you?”

“Dick.”

“Is that a…request? Or an insult?” This guy was definitely new to this. Usually even the worst dirty talkers managed to at least get their desires across.

“It’s an answer. My name is Dick. Richard.”

“Okay,” Jason said, reminding himself he couldn’t make fun of his meal ticket. “So what are you interested in? Or do you want it to be a surprise?”

“Well, I was hoping we could talk,” Dick hedged.

Jason hummed. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten that request, though he knew he got it less often than some of the women. There wasn’t anything about Jason that screamed ‘I’m a great shoulder to cry on’ to most people. Still, surely a guy with a Lambo could afford the most expensive therapist in Gotham. Why Jason?

“You look like you’ve had a rough night,” Dick continued. “Maybe you could—”

“Where are we going?” Jason demanded, interrupting him. They had taken a road that was leading them away from Gotham’s city center, away from the main cluster of hotels and motels.

“Don’t freak out. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Yeah, Jason wasn’t a complete idiot. He lurched and jangled the door handle, fumbling for the lock. It didn’t budge. “Is this fucking child-locked?” he demanded.

“I didn’t want to risk you jumping out and hurting yourself,” Dick said.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere you can get patched up,” he said. “It’s safe. You can relax.”

“You’re kidnapping me off the streets for _healthcare_?” Jason scoffed. “Yeah, right. Let me the fuck go, asshole.”

“I’ll still pay your hourly fee, however long this takes. Just come with me so I can make sure you don’t bleed out.”

“Look, the fee doesn’t mean there aren’t any rules,” Jason said, breathe coming fast. “I can still say no, and I’m saying it. You can’t just…” He jerked at the door again. “Let me out!”

“Calm down,” Dick said.

Jason punched him in the jaw.

The car swerved, nearly entering the oncoming lane of traffic. Luckily, there were no other cars. “Jesus,” Dick said, rubbing his jaw. “You’ve got a hell of a punch. Stop. Look in the glove compartment.”

Jason just stared at him. He wasn’t nearly as fazed by the punch as Jason had hoped.

“Just look,” Dick repeated. “And try not to make me crash this car. My dad will kill me.”

“Oh my God,” Jason muttered, and looked in the glove compartment. A shining police badge was sitting inside. “Shit!” Not Gotham—Jason would have recognized a Gotham cop, anyway. The logo was for Bludhaven, the town over. “I’m not in your jurisdiction. I know my rights.”

“I’m not arresting you,” Dick said, voice growing sharper with frustration. “I’m trying to show you that I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a cop. I don’t beat up innocent boys.”

“Not so innocent,” Jason reminded him. “And I know you know that.”

“You’re practically a kid,” Dick shot back. He sighed, rubbing his jaw again. “Arresting you would do nothing.”

“Well, I’m not going to juvie—or foster care,” Jason snarled.

“Shit, you _are_ just a kid.”

“Let. Me. Out.”

“What, so you can go get yourself beat up in another alley? Maybe killed next time?” Dick demanded.

Jason opened his mouth, and then shut it with a snap. He looked at the dark-haired man again. “Holy shit. Nightwing?”

“No. What? What are you talking about?”

“I would have realized it earlier if it wasn’t so fucking insane for Nightwing to come back without his mask just to make sure I didn’t die,” Jason said, shaking his head. “Your voice sounds different. You use some kind of modulator, don’t you?”

“I’m not Nightwing,” Dick said firmly. He laughed. “No amount of flattery is going to convince me to let you jump out of this car and split your head open on the road. But thank you.”

“Suddenly, I can’t decide whether me knowing you’re Nightwing makes me more or less convinced that you’re going to kill me in an abandoned warehouse,” Jason mused. “Batman has probably trained you to tie up loose ends, right? Let me go now, and I promise I won’t tell anyone who you are. You saved me. We’ll call it even.”

“Still not Nightwing, but if I were, wouldn’t threatening to reveal his secret identity be a shitty way to repay him apparently saving your life?”

“Not if he was _kidnapping me_ ,” Jason said sweetly.

“He’s not kidnapping you, and neither am I. I’m just trying to help. Besides, I don’t believe you. You don’t seem like the kind to give away someone’s secret identity.”

He was right. Jason had seen too much of the good the vigilantes had brought to the streets of Gotham to set them up to die. Still, he wasn’t letting this guy pick him off the streets and drag him away from the city. “Oh, really,” he glanced at the badge again, “Dick Grayson?” Jason looked at the badge again, frowning. “Wait, I know that name. I can’t believe you gave me your real name. You’re Bruce Wayne’s son.”

“Now that _is_ true,” Dick said. He gestured at the car around them. “This didn’t give it away?”

“Does Daddy Warbucks know about your dangerous night job?”

“Of course, but he understands that being a cop is important to me.”

Jason rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat with a huff. “Sure, sure,” he said, letting the Nightwing subject go. He wasn’t going to admit it outright no matter what Jason said.

“Do you have anyone looking after _your_ dangerous night job?” Dick asked.

“Not all of us were picked up by billionaires after we were orphaned,” Jason told him. “I’m fine on my own.” When Dick gave him a skeptical glance, he said, “Tonight was a fluke. I don’t get jumped often.”

“’Often,’” Dick repeated with a huff. “Any really isn’t good. But I’m not just talking about the muggers. Nothing about your job is safe.”

“I stay safe,” Jason retorted. “You heard my speech at the beginning.”

“Not just that kind of safe,” Dick said, looking pained. “You’re underage. And Gotham is dangerous.”

“Yeah,” Jason said. “That’s why I’d rather have an apartment with a lock on the door than end up under a bridge. The rest of us have to make money, Dick Grayson, and at least this way I’m not spending fifteen hours a day washing dishes for less than minimum wage under the table. And hey—I’ve stayed out of gangs! That should make you happy.”

“I’ll never be happy to see a kid suffering,” Dick corrected.

“Then either close your eyes or deal with it,” Jason said.

Dick was silent for a long time. They left the crowded streets of central Gotham and drove onto a long road away from the city. There were trees out here, and sporadic bus stops instead of subway stations. They were still too close to the city to see the stars through the light pollution, but it still felt to Jason like they were entering a new world.

The plush leather seat was more comfortable than Jason’s bed. He should keep fighting. He should find a way to force Dick Grayson, Nightwing, to turn the car around and take Jason back to that street corner.

He leaned his head against the window and let his eyes slip shut.

“I’ll never be able to save everyone,” Dick finally said, voice quiet. “I just have to save the ones I can. I’ll never apologize for trying.”

Jason didn’t look over or answer.  

#

Jason didn’t fall asleep during the drive, but he had relaxed enough that he had to blink rapidly to clear the fog in his mind when the car stopped and the interior lights came on. Dick hissed when he saw Jason in full light for the first time. “You’re already starting to get a black eye,” he said. He started to reach toward Jason’s head, but Jason, still fuzzy, jolted backward. His head hit the window, and he winced.

“Sorry,” Dick said.

“Just let me out already,” Jason said.

The door clicked, and Jason stumbled into a vast garage. The Lamborghini was one of the least expensive cars Jason could see. Who needed a dozen cars anyway? Any one of these could feed Jason for years. The garage door was slowly closing behind them, revealing a vast yard.

“There’s nowhere to run,” Dick said. “We own about fifty acres, and the nearest bus stop is a half-hour walk.”

“For someone who tried really hard to convince me you aren’t a murderer earlier, you’re backsliding quickly,” Jason said. “I’m going to make you drive me home after this,” he added, and pointed at a sleek black Lotus nearby, “in that.”

“If you sit quietly through getting patched up, you can pick any car and chauffeur you want,” Dick promised, and ushered him into the house.

House. Manor. Castle? Either way, it was enormous. One person owned all this? In Gotham, the biggest place he’d ever seen owned by one person had been a penthouse apartment he’d squatted in during his early years on the streets. His stint there hadn’t lasted long. Real estate with more than four hundred square feet was at a premium in Gotham.

“Is this a home, or the Renaissance wing of the Gotham Museum?” Jason asked as they went down a hardwood hallway decorate with a plush rug, several tapestries, and an actual _suit of armor_.

“You spend a lot of time in the museum?” Dick asked, like it was a joke.

“I do,” Jason said coolly.

They headed toward the back of the manor, winding through a half-dozen hallways. Jason tried to stay sharp and remember each turn, but it took more effort than usual. The few minutes of quiet in the car had let his injuries sink in, and his head pounded with every heartbeat. His ribs also hurt worse than he’d realized. Deep breathing was out of the question, no matter how overwhelmed Jason felt.

Finally, they entered a kitchen. Only half the lights were on, creating an intimate atmosphere. Jason quieted his footsteps, feeling like he was going to wake someone up, but the only person inside was already awake and dressed in a suit.

The older man turned with a kettle in his hand. “Excellent timing, Master Dick,” he said in a posh British accent. “The tea is ready. Hello,” he added to Jason.

Jason nodded.

The man gestured to the kitchen table, where a pristine First Aid kit was sitting open. “Take a seat. You look dead on your feet.”

“I assumed you were stitching me up,” Jason muttered to Dick as they went to the table. Jason was grateful to sit down. Even the short distance through the manor had been difficult.

“Trust me, you’d rather have Alfred,” Dick told him.

Alfred came over with three cups of tea on a fancy tray. “Decaffeinated,” he said, setting the tray on the table. “Now, let’s see what we have here. Let me see that cut.”

Alfred stood in front of Jason and examined his brow. He reached for a packet of antiseptic.

“This is unsanitary to do this here,” Jason pointed out, sitting on the edge of his chair but leaning away from the man.

“We don’t exactly have a stainless steel medical lab inside the manor,” Alfred said dryly. Clearly wherever Nightwing went after he was injured, it wasn’t here. Jason couldn’t imagine the vigilante lifestyle blending well with the wealth and indulgence the Waynes were known for, anyway. “I apologize for not having a portable hospital on hand.”

That posh accent was grating. Jason sneered at him. “Yeah, I bet you’re not usually asked to stitch up fag hookers.”

“Jason,” Dick complained.  

“I used to work in the theater,” Alfred said mildly. He dabbed the disinfectant on the wound, the sting making Jason wince. “I have no issues with any sexuality. Besides, I do work for Bruce Wayne.”

“What about him?” Jason asked when Alfred paused expectantly.

Dick laughed. “You don’t read the gossip magazines, do you?”

“I prefer Dumas,” Jason said.

“Master Bruce is pansexual. He came out a few years ago. There was some talk from the less intelligent about taking Master Dick away because of it, though obviously nothing came of that. I would be quite in trouble if I didn’t accept Master Bruce for who he loved. Though I likely would scold him if he had internalized enough of the backlash to call himself the slur you just used.” Alfred sighed. “Then again, there are often movements to reclaim words, so don’t change yourself on my account.”

Jason felt suddenly even more out of his depth than before. He didn’t know what he was. There was no room for real attraction in his line of work. Men paid as much as women, and that was all that mattered. Some of them were more like how Alfred was describing Bruce Wayne, open and easy with their preference. Some saw it as shameful, and made sure Jason felt the same way.

If Jason had lived a different life, who would he have been attracted to? Or would it still have been nobody? He hadn’t wondered that in a long time, and he didn’t like the thoughts.

“You work for the Waynes? I assumed you were part of the family,” Jason said instead. He took a sip of the tea, and grimaced. No sugar.

“He is,” Dick said.

“I’m the butler,” Alfred corrected, setting the used disinfectant cloths aside and rummaging through the first aid kit. “You were wrong. It doesn’t need stitches, but it does need butterfly bandages to seal it slightly. I wish you had come earlier. It’s already started to clot.”

“I came as quickly as I could,” Dick said.

“Will it leave a scar?” Jason asked, though he couldn’t bring himself to care either way.

“No, I don’t believe so,” Alfred said. 

“So you made your butler get up at four in the morning to patch up the stranger you dragged off the street?” Jason asked Dick. “God, you’re such a rich kid.” He turned to Alfred. “I’m fine, really. You don’t have to do this.”

“Stay still,” Alfred said firmly, applying a butterfly bandage to the wound. “And do not worry about hygiene. I will thoroughly sanitize the kitchen before I prepare any more food. I would much prefer a few rounds of extra cleaning than knowing you were walking around injured. One more.” He placed another bandage beside the first. “There.”

“Was that really worth abducting me?” Jason asked Dick.

“Check his ribs too,” Dick said. “He’s moving like they hurt. I think they’re bruised, at least, but we need to make sure they’re not broken.”

“Shirt off, please,” Alfred said.

Jason hesitated. Though the lighting was dim in the kitchen, it wasn’t as dark as he was used to. He felt exposed here, vulnerable. But the ache in his chest was sharp, and he was tired. Finally, he pulled the shirt over his head and looked away. “Only because you’re paying me,” he said to Dick.

To their credit, neither man in the room winced or made a sound when Jason’s torso was revealed. Jason glanced down. His pale chest was already mottled with bruises, red and dark. When the men in the alley had been attacking him, he hadn’t been able to track the blows, but clearly he’d taken even more than he’d thought.

Alfred moved slowly, giving Jason time to prepare before cold, efficient fingers prodded his ribs. Jason took a sharp breath through his nose, forcing himself not to flinch away. Pain lanced through his body, sending a wave of nausea crashing over him.

“I need to listen,” Alfred told him, and pulled a stethoscope from the first aid kit. What kind of fancy-ass first aid kit came with its own _stethoscope_? The metal circle was icy against his skin. It had been years since Jason had seen a doctor. The sensation made him feel like he was eight years old again, scowling his way through the last annual check-up his mother had been able to afford.

“Bruised, possibly with a splinter fracture, but not broken,” Alfred said finally, tucking the stethoscope away.

“You don’t need an x-ray to tell that? You can just feel it—or hear it?” Jason asked. He glanced over at Dick. Maybe Alfred _did_ know about Nightwing. How many butlers could identify broken bones with a touch?

“I used to be in the Queen’s special forces,” Alfred said. “I know what a broken rib looks like. It’s important to know if someone’s lung is about to get punctured. Additionally, x-rays often have problems revealing fresh rib fractures, especially if the bone is merely cracked.”

“If you don’t trust him, I can still take you to a hospital,” Dick told him.

Jason glared at him. “You don’t have to be an asshole,” he said.

“I was being serious. I’d still pay for it,” Dick said.

“They would tell you the same thing I am. These ribs are okay for now, but you need to be careful. You need to ice them and rest. No strenuous activity and no wrapping anything around your chest for at least a month—you don’t want any fractures to turn into breaks.”

Jason laughed darkly. “Maybe you missed the part earlier where I told you what my job is.”

Alfred frowned at him. “If you exacerbate the injuries, you could end up with bone in your lungs, or another vital organ. This isn’t the time to joke.”

Jason felt like a schoolboy being scolded by a teacher. It wasn’t a feeling he enjoyed. “You think I’m fucking joking? I can’t be on bed rest for a month! I don’t have a low impact job, and I can’t go without money for four weeks.”

“You could die if your ribs break,” Alfred said.

“I could also die if I end up on the streets,” Jason snarled.

Dick held up his hands. “We can deal with that in the morning. Before you bite my head off, I told you I’d pay for as long as this took. I’m not driving you back into Gotham now. It’s almost five in the morning. I’d probably crash and kill us both.”

“Then I’ll call an Uber,” Jason said.

“We’re outside the range for central Gotham. Just sleep here, and I’ll get you home after breakfast. I promise.”

“So you changed your mind,” Jason snarled at him. He knew it wasn’t true—Dick hadn’t given his exposed torso more than a professional glance, but he didn’t know how else to manage this situation. Everything was out of his control.

“Of course not,” Dick said. “You’re safe here, Jay. No one will touch you.”

“How rich are you that you can pay a hooker to sleep in your fancy mansion, and you don’t even think about asking for anything else?” Jason asked, almost desperate. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Dick said firmly. “I can’t just throw you back out onto the streets without knowing you’re okay.”

“We have a dozen empty rooms,” Alfred added. “I keep them prepared for guests. It’s no trouble for anyone if you stay the rest of the night in one.”

“You’re both insane,” Jason decided. “You don’t even know me. I could be a murderer.” Or a thief. He didn’t say that one. He still wasn’t convinced that jacking one of the cars in the garage wasn’t his best bet, and he didn’t want them to add any extra security measures before he decided.

He hated himself for even thinking it.

“I trust that you know that hurting anyone here would be a bad idea,” Dick said, and Jason could practically see the Nightwing domino covering his face. Worse, Nightwing wasn’t the scariest thing out there. Dick knew _Batman_. Jason was stupid, but not suicidal. “Just let me help.”

“I’m not a stray dog you can patch up so you feel better about yourself,” Jason said, but his resolve was weakening. Sleeping sounded _amazing_ right now.

“How about you let me worry about my motives, and you just accept the room for the night,” Dick said. “I’m exhausted, and we’ve kept Alfred up too late.”

“It’s no trouble,” Alfred said.

“Go to bed, Alfred. I’ll show Jason to a room.”

Alfred nodded. “Take him to the blue room on the second floor. It has an en-suite, and is far enough from the others that they won’t bother him when they get in.”

Though Jason knew—he _knew_ —that Dick wasn’t planning to hurt him, he still felt his pulse pick up when they stopped in front of the closed bedroom door on the second floor. Why was Jason so sure he could trust this strange man? He was a crime-fighter at night, but by day he had enough money to buy fifty Jasons. Men like this were usually entitled, aggressive. If anyone had the legs to demand something from Jason he didn’t want to give, it was Dick Grayson. He’d saved him, patched him up, and was giving him a place to sleep. He should be making suggestive comments and insinuating himself into Jason’s room. Instead, he was acting like this was some kind of sleepover.

“Don’t worry about waking up early,” Dick was saying. “Alfred makes breakfast closer to brunch. There’s no limit on breakfast food. Will you be able to make it back down to the kitchen without someone helping you?”

“Your house isn’t that big,” Jason said.

“I’ll drop off clothes by the door if I wake up before you,” Dick said. “There should be some random stuff in the closet in there you can use to sleep in. Just leave them on the floor or something, so Alfred knows to wash them later. Same with the towels.”

A shower. Jason bet the water pressure in the manor was perfect. At his apartment, it usually felt more like someone slowly pouring out a water bottle.

What had Jason done to deserve this? How was he supposed to handle all this?

“You’re sure you don’t want to come in?” Jason asked, giving Dick the closest thing he could muster to a seductive glance when he was this exhausted.

“Positive,” Dick said, donning his Nightwing voice again. “Please stop trying to convince me to sleep with you. It’s not happening. I don’t need or want it. Besides, Alfred would kill me if _I_ was the person who ruined your bed rest.”

“Suit yourself,” Jason said. “You should consider a financial advisor, or something, you know. I hope you don’t always waste money like this.”

“It’s not a waste. Goodnight, Jay.” And he left, letting Jason enter the bedroom by himself.

It was enormous, but Jason’s eyes locked immediately on the bed. His ribs and head ached, and he wanted nothing more than to fall face-first into the comforter and pass out.

He steeled himself and turned away from the bed. First, he took the wooden chair from the desk and wedged it firmly under the door’s handle. He locked it too, but he preferred security measures he could see. Dick may not have been a threat, but Jason didn’t know the other Waynes.

Quickly, he rinsed off in the shower, sitting on the floor so he wouldn’t risk falling over. He didn’t bother with soap or shampoo. He just wanted to get the blood off. Alfred had helped him tonight, and he wouldn’t repay him by smearing the sheets with blood and dirt.

Finally, feeling dead on his feet, Jason fell into the bed, clutching the ice pack Alfred had sent up with him. The plush mattress seemed to rise up to greet him. He couldn’t feel a single spring. It was like being enveloped in a cloud of cotton, and the cold against his torso felt like a snowdrift. He closed his eyes, and sleep rushed over him like a wave.

 

#

 

By the time Jason ventured back downstairs, the sun was streaming brightly through his room’s tall windows. Normally, he woke with the light, but he had slept solidly through the night and well into the day. Though nowhere near as exhausted as he had been when he’d fallen asleep, Jason felt far from refreshed. His bruises had settled in overnight. The blow to his face was swelling spectacularly, and his ribs had only been helped slightly by the ice pack. He looked like he’d lost a prize fight.

Depending on how much money Dick was planning on handing him for their unusual appointment last night, maybe Jason _could_ find a way to take a few days off. Bruises like this would scare off anyone respectable, and the memory of his fear when he’d seen Dick’s car pull up haunted him like a specter.

He would do it if he had to, but Jason was very tired of being hurt.

Jason followed the sound of conversation into a dining room. He was hoping to find Dick and Alfred, but instead, he stumbled onto two other men.

Well, one was a boy, at least a few years younger than Jason. The man had a face even Jason, who rarely read the news, recognized: Bruce Wayne. Though they looked similar, Jason thought he remembered hearing that Dick wasn’t the only ward Wayne had taken under his wing. Was it some weird compulsion for Wayne to adopt boys who could have been his own, or just a coincidence?

Jason had a moment to desperately pray that Dick had warned his family about him sleeping over when the two looked up at him from their breakfast. Would they call the cops on him? Some of the police in Gotham would recognize Jason, though they’d never successfully picked him up on prostitution charges.

At least Jason wasn’t wearing the clothes he’d come in with last night. As promised, Dick had left him a pair of slightly loose jeans and a soft, plain t-shirt by his door.

Jason watched them watching him, and then said, “Yo.”

Luckily, before either Wayne could say anything, Dick came through the adjoining kitchen door with a plate stacked with breakfast food in his hands. “Morning, Jay,” Dick greeted. “Alfred, Jay’s up,” he called back into the kitchen. “Could we get him another plate?”

Apparently hearing an affirmative, Dick came into the dining room and sat next to Wayne. He nodded to the seat beside the boy. “Grab a seat, Jay. How are you feeling?”

Jason sat, though he could see the boy tense beside him. Jason knew why he and Dick had been up so late. What excuse did this kid and Bruce Wayne have for having breakfast at noon, even if it was a Saturday? Lazy, rich assholes. They probably spent the night partying or burning money while Dick was patrolling the streets as Nightwing.

“I feel like I got beat to shit last night,” Jason said. “Are you regretting this whole thing yet?” He glanced between Dick’s father and brother.

“Nope,” Dick said.

Alfred came out of the kitchen with a plate even more loaded with food than Dick’s was, and set it down in front of Jason. He flipped the mug that was already on the table in front of Jason, and then offered a coffee pot. “Do you partake, sir?”

Jason shook his head. “It makes me jittery.”

“I’ll have more,” the boy beside him said.  

“Master Tim, you know you’re limited to one cup an hour,” Alfred said.

Tim huffed and drank what was left in his cup sullenly.

“Thanks for the food,” Jason told Alfred. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he took his first bite. “Am I the entertainment for this meal?” he asked them while he chewed. “Don’t rich people usually just hire violinists for that kind of shit?”

“Language,” Alfred said mildly as he left the room. Jason wished he had stayed.

“Sorry, we’re not used to visitors,” Tim said, sounding awkward. How much did he know? Did he think Jason was one of Dick’s friends, or had he picked up that there was more to it? The bruises probably didn’t help the whole thing seem casual.

“Yeah, well I’m not used to eating off white china, so we’re all adjusting this morning.”

“Once you’re done eating, Alfred will get you another ice pack,” Dick told Jason.

“Get one he won’t miss,” Jason said. “That way when you drop me off, you don’t have to track me back down later to get it back.”

“You don’t have to rush off right away…” Dick said.

Jason frowned at him. “What, do you want me to crash on your couch all day? Get real.”

“I told you,” Bruce Wayne said, looking at Dick. “You can’t just take in every stray you meet.”

Dick folded his arms and raised his eyebrows. “I learned it from the best, B.”

Wayne frowned. “That’s not the same.”

“It sort of is,” Dick said. “You would have done the same. He was taking on two guys way bigger than him, and then was back on the street five minutes later. I wouldn’t be your son if I had walked away.”

“You could have taken him to a hospital.”

“Dick knew that I don’t do hospitals,” Jason interrupted. “He had to kidnap me off the streets to even get me to come here. Don’t worry. I’ll get out of your hair soon. I was promised breakfast, and a chauffeur back to Gotham. You wouldn’t make Dick take back his promises, would you?” Jason grinned at him, and tore off a bite of bacon.

“You kidnapped him?” Tim asked.

“He’s exaggerating,” Dick said.

“Alfred told me about your injuries. If Dick hadn’t interfered and you had refused to see a doctor, you could have seriously hurt yourself,” Wayne told Jason.

“Thanks for the lecture, but I’m not your kid,” Jason reminded him. “And I’m not your concern. I’m leaving soon anyway.”

“No, you’re not,” Wayne said. “Alfred said you need rest. He knows these things.”

“I just slept for, like, seven hours,” Jason pointed out.

“Rest for longer than that,” Wayne said. “Cracked ribs aren’t a joke. Trust me.”

“You get injured a lot in the risky business of being a billionaire?” Jason asked.

“Spelunking,” Wayne said drily. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

Dick nodded. “I can’t just drive you right back into Gotham if you’re going to hurt yourself. Bruce, no one is using that room right now anyway. And Alfred agrees with me.”

Wayne hummed thoughtfully.

Oh, no. This was going too far. “Look, I appreciate the concern from both you,” Jason said. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll stay on bedrest. I heard Alfred’s suggestions. I’ll be careful.” He gave them a reassuring smile.

Dick just rolled his eyes. “I might have met you last night, but I wasn’t born yesterday. If you stay in your apartment, you need money. To get money, you’re going to get yourself hurt.”

Jason dropped the smile. “Maybe I will. I’d rather do that than be some rich asshole’s charity case.”

“You think it was just charity when Dick became my ward? Or Tim?” Wayne challenged.

“I don’t know your life,” Jason shrugged, tearing into a piece of toast.

“It wasn’t. It’s never been about publicity, and it was never about just making myself feel better. I have resources. I have this house. I don’t have any kids of my own. Why shouldn’t I use my money however I want?” Wayne asked. “You think it would leave me bankrupt to let you stay for a month or two?”

“A month or two?”

“Or longer,” Wayne said casually. “Dick told me that you’re not eighteen yet.”

“Barely,” Jason said, glaring at Dick. How much had he told them? Had he shared the whole damn sob story while Jason had been asleep?

“I couldn’t just throw you back onto the streets, legally or morally speaking. And I assume you wouldn’t do well with me suggesting the foster system.”

“Damn right, I wouldn’t,” Jason snarled. “I can take care of myself.”

“But you don’t have to,” Wayne said. “Like I said, I have the resources. Why not stay here, at least until you recover?”

“I don’t…” Jason looked around the table. Tim’s expression was neutral, but Wayne and Dick looked…compassionate. He shook his head. “There’s always a catch. I’ve been on my own long enough to know that. I’d rather just avoid the whole thing than find out the hard way.”

“No catch,” Wayne said. “But you wouldn’t be a prisoner. If we found another solution, or if in a month you’re healthy again and choose to leave, I won’t stop you.”

“And you wouldn’t call social services on me?” Jason asked, looking for the loophole.

Beside him, the previously silent Tim snorted. “Bruce doesn’t like the people from Gotham Social Services,” he said. “He’d never bring them into this.”

Jason looked at Wayne questioningly, and he explained, “After I came out, they started dropping by for unexpected house-calls. It slowed for a while, but started up again when I took in Tim as well. Tim’s right—I wouldn’t put you on their radar. I doubt you’d let them help you, anyway. I’m sure you could escape their custody as easily as you could have escaped this house last night.”

Jason scowled. He was right, of course. Jason had been able to pick locks and hotwire cars since he was nine. If he had really wanted to leave last night, he could have. Dick may have convinced him to get in the car, but once they’d gotten to the manor, it wouldn’t have taken Jason long to steal one of their cars and escape back to Gotham. The temptation of a secure room and a soft bed had been too much to resist.

“Don’t say no just because you think you have to,” Wayne advised. “This is a genuine offer.”

“But _why_?” Jason asked. “Why me? I’m not the only kid on the streets. You don’t know me. You said it yourself—you can’t just adopt every stray you meet.” He spat the words. “I’m nobody to you. This is insane.”

“I don’t know you,” Wayne agreed, “but I know my son. If Dick wants to help you, who am I to say no? It just means he’s becoming the man I’d hoped he would.”

Dick looked over at Bruce, eyes wide. It seemed like he’d been shocked speechless.

“I can’t save all of Gotham,” Wayne continued. “I donate to causes. I sit on more boards than I can count. But that doesn’t mean I can’t also help individuals when I can.”

“But…my apartment,” Jason said. “If I don’t pay rent while I’m here, I’ll go back to nothing.”

“I told you I’d pay you your rate for as long as this took. It’s already been, what, almost ten hours? That’s a thousand dollars. That’s got to be a start toward your rent.”

“Dick,” Jason hissed, glancing meaningfully over at Tim. He was steadily finishing his eggs as though the conversation happening around him was normal. There was a phone on his lap, now that Jason looked again. Tim couldn’t have been more than thirteen, and he oozed ‘rich kid.’ He didn’t need to hear about the rate people paid to _rent Jason_. Jason was willing to throw his work in Wayne’s face, or Alfred’s, or Dick’s, but he wasn’t going to be responsible for corrupting the youngest Wayne.

Jason hadn’t been much younger than Tim when he’s first ended up on the streets—and not much older when he’d started the work.

Could Jason have ever been a kid like Tim, if Wayne had adopted him too?

“And you can’t pay me for sleeping,” Jason added.

“I promised you,” Dick said stubbornly.

The part of Jason that loathed charity warred with the part of him that knew he needed money. “Only for last night, then,” he said finally. “I’ll figure out another way to pay for however long I end up staying. I’ll…” All of Jason’s skills seemed shameful in the soft light in the Waynes’ lush dining room. “I’ll help Alfred clean, or something.”

“Don’t say that to Alfred,” Wayne said. “He’ll take it personally.”

“But—”

“We’ll deal with it,” Wayne said in a voice that brooked no argument. “For now, rest. That’s your only job for today.” He set his fork across his empty plate and stood up. “Let me know if you need anything, Jay.”

“It’s Jason,” Jason told him quietly.

“Jason,” Wayne repeated. He nodded with more solemnity than Jason would have expected from Bruce Wayne, and turned to leave.

Tim pushed away from the table as well, though he hadn’t cleaned his plate. He tucked his phone in his pocket and met Wayne near the door. As they left, Tim looked back over his shoulder at Jason, but didn’t say anything else. Jason wondered how the kid felt. He was Wayne’s newest ward. Would he see Jason as a replacement? Jason made a mental note to give him space. He wouldn’t have wanted a stranger crashing in his home either, and Jason wasn’t stupid enough to pick a fight with the son of the man who owned this place.

When they were alone, Dick grinned at him. “That was easier than I expected. I think B likes you.”

Jason laughed. “Yeah, I’m a real charmer.”

Dick shrugged. “B’s gone through some shit, too. He respects fighters.”

“Do they know?” Jason asked, lowering his voice. “About Nightwing, I mean.”

Dick just grinned at him. “I still don’t know why you think that, Jay. Come on. Finish up your food, and then I’ll give you the grand tour now that it’s daylight. You said you liked to go the museum? Our art gallery is going to blow you away.”

“Art gallery?” Jason repeated, sitting up straighter.

Maybe he _would_ stick around for a while. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://starknjarvis27.tumblr.com/)!


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